


All of You(s)

by Chancy_Lurking



Series: Felix+ [1]
Category: Sense8 (TV)
Genre: Cluster Feels, Family Don't End in Blood, Friendship, Gen, Protectiveness, Ride or Dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-18 23:06:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9406940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chancy_Lurking/pseuds/Chancy_Lurking
Summary: Felix lets it happen, oddly fascinated, for all of about three seconds before he takes a breath and takes a risk. “So who are you?”(In which Felix finds out the truth and decides it makes sense. And he's still on-board.)





	

It isn’t that Felix hadn’t noticed, it’s that he didn’t know what he was looking at.

It isn’t obsessive or anything, but when you’ve known someone as long as he and Wolfgang have known each other, you learn to recognize passes for normal, even on bitchy-baseline neutral faces like Wolfgang’s. Felix can tell the difference between the types of angry that precedes silence or fighting and can read the levels of pain in the lines around Wolfgang’s eyes. Sometimes, if he lets himself, he can distinguish between the directions of Wolfgang’s joy, too. A lot of it is for him. A lot of it, especially recently, is internal which is… _odd_ , but a vast improvement from the look of the internally haunted. Felix knows how to read Wolfgang’s face, that is the one thing he is certain of.

So when Wolfgang came bashing in on him – while he was in the middle of two _very_ pretty girls, by the way – and said they had to go _now_ , Felix didn’t hesitate to pull his pants up and get moving. He didn’t need any more explanation than the wild almost-panic in Wolfgang’s eyes, a look he hadn’t seen in years. If Wolfie was making that face, things had gone DEFCON-1 and Felix needed to high tail it, regardless of what was behind them.

They were waiting for a car in an alley – the fourth one they’d ducked down – when he was surprised by Wolfgang grabbing him by the collar. He was fighting with something and, for once, Felix couldn’t guess what.

Wolfgang’s eyes were hard when he spoke, his voice low and sincere. “I’m leaving Germany,” he said firmly, but then his mouth twisted and he looked at his hand fisted in Felix’s shirt, “I cannot ask you to—”

“Don’t be stupid,” Felix cut in sharply, though he gave an easy sort of smile after, slapping Wolfgang’s chest. “We’re not breaking up the band.”

The smirk he got was all bravado and relief, and he shoved Wolfgang off him with a matching one just as their cab pulled up. They were going to be going in circles for a while to make sure they didn’t have a tail before trying to grab their emergency stashed goods to fence.

Actually, it doesn’t even occur to Felix to ask _where_ exactly they’re going until they are in the middle stage of the Complete Meltdown Plan – _The Shithouse_ out past Veda’s old apartment. The exact reason it’s called The Shithouse is lost to 7 year old Felix’s sense of humor, but the barely standing skeleton of an old church had been one of their many outposts as kids. The hand detailed paintings of angels on the ceiling and the tall, partially-busted-out stained glass windows grown over with vines make it seem mysterious, Felix guesses, like they could come in here and walk back out the door to somewhere far away. He’s just starting to remember the logic behind calling it The Shithouse and turns to tell Wolfgang when he pauses, confused by what he’s seeing.

It occurs to him he has seen this before, but now there is nothing to distract him from the wrongness of it.

This time, Felix watches and he _sees_ the change, sees a brightness in Wolfgang's eyes that he's never seen before and doesn’t recognize on his friend’s face. Wolfgang is looking at this old building – _their old Shithouse_ – like it’s all new to him, like the angels on the ceiling hadn't watched over them as they bled as kids, as teens, as adults while they planned this escape route _years_ ago.

Wolfgang turns in a circle, head tipped back and almost smiling in wonder.

 _Someone_ turns in a circle, head tipped back and almost smiling in wonder.

Felix lets it happen, oddly fascinated, for all of about three seconds before he takes a breath and takes a risk. “So who are you?”

Wolfgang's eyes turn towards him too slowly – _confused_ by his voice – before they are familiar again. “What do you mean?” he asks, looking around himself innocently.

Felix doesn’t eat bullshit.

“Who was that?” he asks, stepping closer and motioning at Wolfgang, “Just then?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Wolfgang laughs at him, but it's fake and Felix _knows_ him so he just stares until Wolfgang's face twists through incredulity into purposeful blankness.

They just stare at each other.

“You think I'm crazy?” Wolfgang demands.

Felix laughs. “I _know_ you're crazy, _you_ know I know you're crazy,” he leans against the only surviving pew, trying not to let his nerves show too much in his face. “So this is something different, right?”

Wolfgang's face ticks and he half turns like he's listening to something Felix can't hear. He's got that hard look on his face again, like the resolve before he hands Felix a gun or they have to stand and fight someone(s) a lot bigger than them. Felix’s heart rate always spikes when he’s on the receiving end of that look. He isn't, however, sure he _is_ right now, to be honest. Wolfgang’s gaze is off to his side and he has to resist the impulse to turn around.

“It's complicated,” Wolfgang says eventually.

Felix scoffs. “You didn't go to college either, asshole, try me.” Wolfgang stays quiet again so Felix hedges a guess. “Is it voices?”

Wolfgang flinches and Felix raises his eyebrows, surprised. “We're dealing with enough right now don't you think?” Wolfgang snaps.

“Yeah, so it doesn't seem like good sense to deal with whatever's rattling around in your skull alone. That's bad form,” Felix holds his arms out, fighting the battle between scared and offended. “I'm the side kick, I have to know these things.”

Wolfgang looks at him for a long moment, like _really_ looks at him, the sort of _deep_ -looking people like Felix and Wolfgang try not to do. Felix’s hair stands on end, but he submits himself to stand there under the scrutiny, doesn’t look away even as his skin crawls. He almost opens his mouth to ask if Wolfgang trusts him, but the two of them standing here together is proof enough of that – he thinks it would be better to ask what they’re running from that Wolfgang doesn’t want to say, but he waits. He trusts.

How fucking corny.

Eventually, Wolfgang moves back until he hits the wall before sinking to the floor. “More than voices.”

The pew creaks as Felix presses up off it and comes to sit beside him, doesn’t even vaguely consider the opposite direction. “You see them too?”

“I _am_ them,” Wolfgang corrects.

Felix sucks in a sharp breath, but nods, rubbing his hand over his mouth. Makes sense, he supposes, that the voices aren’t just _a part_ of you. Alarming, maybe, but it does make sense. “How long?”

Wolfgang picks a rock up off the floor, studies it to keep his eyes down. “About a year… just feels like longer,” he laughs humorlessly, “Thought I was going crazy.”

“—er.” Felix modifies.

It succeeds in making Wolfgang smile. “Fuck you.”

“How many?” he asks out of curiosity.

“Seven.”

Felix whistles. “That's a lot to keep track of.”

“They keep track of themselves mostly. I don't…” Wolfgang shrugs, “They aren't bad. None of them.” That last part seems to be self-deprecating, but Felix has no illusions about either of them being good men. Good friends, good brothers? Sure. The rest doesn’t really matter to him.

“No blood sacrifices to Satan then?” he asks anyway, just to be clear. He doesn’t want any screaming mandrakes in his garden, much less bleeding walls.

Wolfgang rolls his eyes. “No.”

Felix shrugs, leaning his head back against the wall. They’re going to be here until sunset, so he might as well rest up until they have to move. “Ok.”

“…Ok?” Wolfgang says and Felix looks over at the incredulous tone, “That's all you have to say to that? _‘Ok’?_ ”

Felix shrugs again. “If they're you, then they're you. That's good enough for me,” he answers, but then his face falls a bit, worried. “Wait, they _do_ like me right?”

“Yes!” Wolfgang laughs, but it's not Wolfgang's laugh, it’s too close to a giggle. Then he says something Felix doesn’t understand.

Felix sits back, startled. “What language is that?”

“What?” Wolfgang responds, just as surprised.

“Wasn't German, Wolfie,” he explains, “I don’t know what you said.”

“Sorry,” Wolfgang looks off to the side slightly, consulting before answering Felix realizes with something like delight. “It was Hindi. I said ‘they like you, too’.”

“Wicked.” Felix tries to repeat the pronunciation, probably butchers it judging by Wolfgang’s face. “Did you name them?”

His face crinkles. “They had their own names.”

“Am I allowed to know them?”

Wolfgang's eyes slide to someone else again, but then his whole face changes, eyes bright and innocent. “He'll tell you if you ask again, but you must understand what it means if he does,” someone says, but their voice dances more than Wolfgang’s would.

Felix had believed Wolfgang from the start, but now he _really_ does – Wolfgang is a lot of things, but he’s not innocent nor a good actor. He’s not talking to Wolfgang. “What's it mean, mystery person?” he asks warily.

“Some very bad people might come after you,” his voice is different again, excitable. “Like Hugo Drax, bad. No, worse than him, think _Anakin Skywalker_ in—”

Felix laughs. “If you're in his head, you know I’m probably already going to die to bad people.” Like he said before; he knows he’s not a good man, he and Wolfgang didn’t find each other in a sewing circle. The fact that the first shooting hasn’t changed his mind about his profession is telling. He’s content to die bloody if he dies having fun on a big score, if he dies with and or for Wolfgang.

He says none of this aloud, but thinks it’s known.

“But he doesn't want you to get hurt again, he really lo- _ooooo_.” Wolfgang slurs another, smokier voice’s words into nothingness as he glares off to the side, ears going pink. “She's projecting.”

Felix smiles at him a little helplessly, not at all surprised by that line of thought and chewing his cheek to keep from outright teasing. He never imagined Wolfgang as a girl, but if she was, why _wouldn’t_ she love him? “She was gonna tattle on you. What's her name? I like her.” When Wolfgang just stares at him, Felix nudges his shoulder, “Really, what's her name?”

Wolfgang visibly has a mental tug of war for a moment, before rolling his eyes.

She has different eyes when they land back on him.

Shifting so she's seated cross-legged in front of him, back to the door – something Wolfie, even with Felix there to watch his back, would never normally do – she sticks her hand out. “I'm Nomi,” she says. “The first one was Kala and Capheus was Mr. Movie.”

Felix shakes her hand. “Nice to meet you, Nomi and co. So you…” he scratches his head at a loss. What do you even say to the voices in your friend’s head? “You know about the others?”

Nomi looks to the side before she tilts Wolfgang’s head in confusion. “Why wouldn't I?”

“I saw this documentary that said people with multiple personalities don't always know about the others,” Felix informs her.

Nomi laughs a little. “No, that's the thing. We're not personalities, we're people. Completely separate just...” she motions vaguely, “connected with wires. Really leaky wires.”

Oh.

…Well, that’s different.

“Really now?” Felix says dumbly.

“Yep! I’ve never actually been to Germany. I’d even call you to prove it, but you’d have to get a burner, because, well. You know…” She points up.

“Bad people.” Felix guesses.

Nomi nods. “It's rare and it’s weird and we don't get it, but when other people find out how weird you are…”

Felix nods solemnly, understanding their whole reason for being here. “People'll kill you for less than being weird these days.”

Nomi twists Wolfgang's mouth in a wry smirk that is very nearly _his_. “Tell me about it.”

And Wolfie _is_ … different than most people, but Felix can see in her eyes the kind of grief Wolfgang hasn't touched. Wolfie hurts in places only Felix thinks he can see, but not the same places Nomi hurts, not exactly. But it still stings him, her pain, and if Wolfgang is holding her— _all_ of them and fighting for them, then Felix...

Felix looks at her for a moment longer, then nods decisively, crossing his arms. “Ok, then,” he says, “I pick you. All of you. Bond villains and all.”

Nomi-Wolfgang smiles openly, but it somehow feels like there are more people standing around here, all smiling down at him, too. “We know.”

Slightly uncomfortable at the attention, at the trust and affection in their face, he tips his head with a smirk and breaks the moment. “I'll bet you're all as pretty as Wolfie, too.”

Nomi's flattered laughter cuts off abruptly and Felix grins in the face of Wolfgang's glare.

“When do I get to meet the others?”


End file.
